You think you know
by Crunch
Summary: This is my world. Enter at your own risk."
1. In the beggining

You think you know - by Crunch  
  
Ohh, looky here!  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
My name is Spot Conlon: infamous leader of Brooklyn, loyal ally of Jacky boy, and one cocky son of a . . . But you already knew that, right? You've heard one story, you've had one glimpse of my life, and now you think you know me. You THINK you know.  
  
You  
  
Don't  
  
Know.  
  
You saw one moment of triumph, and now you think you've seen what my life is like? Look harder.  
  
Truth is, there is a world beyond the strike, a world beyond the glory.  
  
It's a world where you make your own rules, and anything goes.  
  
It's a world where friendship can save you, and weakness can kill you.  
  
This is my world. Enter at your own risk.  
  
Are you sure you want to know?  
  
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A new series!! Hoo Yah! *does the sacred 'new series' dance, not unlike the sacred 'I've finished a story' dance, or the 'Ohh, shopping!' dance*. I know, it was a VERY short default chapter, but please tell me if your intrigued by the idea, if you think I should keep going, or scrap it and hide my face in shame. REVIEW! 


	2. Trouble always coming

You think you know- by Crunch  
  
Eh, I decided to give it a go, and we'll just see what pops out of my head, okies? Ohh, shout outs! I got your shout outs right here!  
  
*Doll Face- WHEEEE!!! Oh good ta know! You're my FIRST review for this story, whoo hoo! You get the FIRST REVIEW PRIZE! Hmm, not sure if a goil is coming up, but hey it couldn't hurt to be prepared, so type up your profile and I promise, ya get first dibs!  
  
*Sparks da Newsie- ok, here ya are, and whats a glomp?  
  
*Shortie- IDOOOOOOOOOOOOL YOU BACK!!!!!!!!!! *mouths hangs open in shock* a. . .solid. . .gold. . .? Oh, damn strait I want it! Course I'm evil, that's why I work for you, aint it? Hee hee, thanks for the confidence, pal, yes I know what you mean. Come to think of it it DOES sound a bit like that. . .This is the diary of Spot Conlon. You think you know, but you have no idea. Ah well, these things happen. Thanks muchly, keep reading!  
  
*Mondie- a blue ribbon, ey? Oh, I get it, first place! *taps head* not just a hatrack my friend. No nono nonono, it was a VERY appreciated review, I wasn't sure whether to keep goin or not, so thanks muchly! Luffle you back, as always!  
  
*Raeghann- well ok then, if you insist! Thanks for the review!  
  
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Manca studied his reflection in the grimy, filth splattered glass of the distribution center, fussing as his fellow newsies shuffled in the morning chill and struggled to wipe the sleep from their still-bleary eyes. From the checkered cap resting jauntily on a bed of wild raven hair, to the chocolate eyes wide with a permanent and misleading look of purity, to the dimpled Italian cheeks, scuffed and patchy overcoat and frayed brown trousers, he looked every inch the immigrant, fresh off the boat and naïve in the ways of the world. Looks could be deceiving.  
  
"Hey, guys, do my teeth look crooked ta youse?" He traced a soiled finger across the curve of his lips.  
  
"Naw, ya teeth look fine." The boy behind him in line yawned distractedly, reaching across his front to pound on the still darkened office window. Damn pape wagons were always late on Sundays.  
  
"What about my head? I t'ink me heads too big."  
  
"Dat's cause it's so full a dreams, Manca." Spot grinned wryly as he shoved his way into the front of the line, without objection. Had any other newsie tried such a bold move, they'd be eating dirt by now. But not Spot Conlon, the respected Brooklyn leader- loyal to his friends, and adept at making his enemies. . .er. . .disappear. Manca turned to him, flashing a not-so-crooked grin as his best friend nudged in front of him.  
  
"Slept late dis mornin', Spotty?"  
  
"Eh, no later den usual." Spot shrugged, pounding irately on the window. "Come on, Red, what's da hold up?" He yelled, striking a match against the crumbling brick wall as a random newsie offered up one of his cigarettes. Spot barely noticed him. "I got papes ta sell, goils ta do, ya know?" He muttered.  
  
"Where was ya last night, Spot? Dere was a brawl ovah in Dikah Heights. Could a used your help."  
  
Spot snorted good-naturedly. "You mean ya could a used me right hook."  
  
"Yeah, dat would a come in handy." Manca chuckled, rubbing his swollen knuckles unconsciously.  
  
Spot sucked in a healthy dose of nicotine, reveling in it's filthy taste before letting the smoke curl from his lips towards the pale winter sky above them. "Against who?"  
  
"Some a Wrench's boys from da Bronx, ofcourse."  
  
"You win?"  
  
"Damn strait."  
  
"Really?"  
  
"Well, dey left first."  
  
Spot nodded suspiciously. "Dey left cause dey couldn't take no more?"  
  
"Well, no, dey left cause da bulls showed up."  
  
"Right as you was about ta pound em inta da earth, right?"  
  
"Well. . ." Manca turned all his attention to the Distribution office as it's window finally slid open. "Looks like da papes got heah all right!" He grinned, a bit too eagerly.  
  
Spot shook his head in dismay. So many fights in the past few weeks. . .so many newsies stumbling home at the break of dawn, bruised and bloody. So many newsies never stumbling home at all - though to be fair, those boys could've frozen or starved in the gutter. However, it was most likely this damn fued with the Bronx. Yes, trouble was coming; Spot could feel it baring down on them like a monstrous tidle wave, ready to sweep them all into Hell. But then, that was nothing new, he reflected. Trouble was always coming.  
  
Inside the office, a wizened and bent old man, scowling heavily around a face so scarlet it could have been painted, leaned over the counter, mumbling his exasperation. "Hold ya horses, boys, I'm movin as fast as I can wid dese old legs a mine. . ."  
  
Spot rolled his eyes. Red's old legs were old news, and he had money to make. "Aww, quit it, will ya Red? Jus' give me fifty papes."  
  
"Hey, Spot, how come you only get fifty papes a day?" Manca nudged him from behind as old Red turned crankily to retrieve the stack. "You could be pushin over a hundred, ya know."  
  
"Yeah, well, noone likes an overacheivah." The Brooklyn leader shrugged and shouldered his papers. With a last drag on the cigarette, and a last deep breath to wake himself fully, Spot headed out to whatever remote corner of the borough he chose to work that day, for his own reasons. It never payed to question Spot.  
  
Manca tagged close behind, still scouring the line of his teeth absent mindedly as he let his mind wander to the evening ahead. Get rid of his papes. . .have his nightly drink with Spot and the boys at the red hook. . .meet Netty behind the factory for a little late night rough and tum-  
  
"Ya think dere scared a me?"  
  
Manca jerked to a stop, half to keep from walking strait into Spot's backside, and half from the shock of being spoken to this early in the morning. "Whatsdat?"  
  
"I said, do ya t'ink dere scared of me. Da boys." Manca shrugged. As Spot's closest pal and only confident, these questions weren't unusual, though they were always delicate.  
  
"Prolly. But who cares? Let em be scared- it keeps em in line."  
  
"Dats true." Spot considered this for a moment, then turned his peircing gray eyes on Manca, who figited uncomfortabley under his gaze. "Are you scared of me?"  
  
"I don't think I'm gonna answer dat one." Spot shrank back, slightly hurt.  
  
"Why? You t'ink I'll soak ya if I don't like da answer?"  
  
"No, Spot." He shook his head truthfully. "Your me best friend in da world. I know ya'd nevah hurt me."  
  
"But your still scared a me?"  
  
Manca shrugged, whiping a sweaty hand beneath the brim of his cap. "Well, you can be a scary guy, Spot."  
  
The Brooklyn leader nodded, not quite sure whether to be proud of this, or frightened of this. In either case, he knew it was true. He could be a hell of a scary guy.  
  
After a final drag, he paused to crush the last stub of his smoke into the snow seeped cobblestones beneath his scuffed heel, reflecting on his reputation as it was. Spot had fought tooth and nail to get where he was, wherever THAT was. Sure, he'd done things he wasn't too proud of, but that was the way the world worked. After all, he was all he had, so why shouldn't he look after himself?  
  
"Spot. . .SPOT!!" A sudden commotion behind them interrupted Conlon's rare moment of reflection. He turned slowly, small shoulders squared, chin high, eyes glaring menacingly, and hands curled into stone-like fists, ready for trouble. He always had to be ready.  
  
But instead of trouble, he found Piper.  
  
"Whatsa mattah, Pipah? You loose ya milk money or somethin'?" Manca scoffed at the runt of a boy, huffing and puffing towards them as fast as his stubby legs could carry his 9 year old frame. Bent nearly in half, his tiny chest heaving sith exersion, Piper raked the straw colored locks from his pale eyes, now glistening with unspilled tears.  
  
"What is it now, Pipah?" Spot shifted anxiously.  
  
"Wrench's boys. . . Swivel. . .dey. . .all messed up. . . come see!" Piper sobbed for breath inbetween words, shrinking as Spot's whole body hardened before him.  
  
"What happened ta Swivel?"  
  
"Dey took his. . .sellin' spot. . .left im in da cold. . .head's all messed up. . . not breathin' so good."  
  
Spot nodded, glancing back and forth between the distant, decrepid lodging house and his fresh stack of newspapers. He really should go see, but his papes-  
  
"Spot," Manca nudged him anxiously. "Spot, we gotta go check im out!"  
  
But his papes. . . Spot sighed resignedly and let his papers flutter to the sidewalk, wishing not for the first time that this sort of responcibility was an uncommon occurance in his life. Nodding, he turned and jogged towards the dormitory as fast as his lithe, 16 year old limbs would carry him.  
  
Such were the duties of a Leader.  
  
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Eh, slow start I know, but I promise it will increase in goodness. So whadya think? Did it live up to all your expectations? REVIEW!! And thanks for feeding Race!muse, though I think he's getting a big head about it. . . 


	3. If you don't know

You think you know- by Crunch  
  
*Last chapter: Spots friends. This chapter: Spot's looooooooooove. Well, sorta.  
  
Raeghann- oh, thanks muchly! Here ya go!  
  
Shortie- oh, my own pitchfork, finally. . . THE ABSOLUTE POWER!!!! Yes, Manca, my Italian stallion. Really, like you? Oh, well, he's in touch with his femanine side then. Hehe, I liked that line, I was gonna save it for Racetrack, but the need arose. . .You know you're right! Racetrack, Jack, Spot, there all male bimbos in my stories! There MIMBOS! Oh no nono nonono, don't worry, its nothing like SCL. I'm not gonna kill anyone. . .well, not everyone. The fueds just gonna be to prove a point. Except I haven't figured out how yet. . .oh well you don't need to hear all that.Oh, swivel, hehe, its ok, hes a reseilliant little ambastard. It is not to worry. Well, this chapter is slow, but if you make it to the end, there'll be a golden newsie waiting! Cheers~  
  
Mondie- whats a teaspot? Maybe I'm crazy, but it sounds really cute, and I just got a picture of Spot doint the whole I'm a little teapot jig. . . oh thanks! I lovel piper. Ok, I'll continue . . . . if you write another story! MU HAAA HA! No, I'll prolly continue anyways, but I still want a new story. No pressure! (pay no attention to that man behind the curtain. There is pressure.)  
  
Derby- DERBY!!! *staggers backwards in shock and delight, inadvertantly trips over the computer chair and wakes the family* Ow. Yay, my hero reviewed! Whoo hoo! Thanks so much, here a new chapter, and uh, slip the hamsters a little extra food for me tonight, okies? *sly wink*  
  
Bittersweet- ok right. . .wait for it. . .not yet. . .NOW! he he, here ya go, keep reviewing!  
  
Spotted One- oh, goody! Intrigue is every writers friend! Thanks for the review!  
  
Doll Face- Oh, I'm so glad you like it! Jeeze, I swear you are like, the most fantabulous reviewer a writer could ask for. So heres ya chapter! I know, I know, Im SO VERY sorry I mangled your character a bit, but look, ya still get Spot! Maybe I could try and change it if I've mortified you. . .And worry not, your relationship will take a turn for the better. Thanks for the profile, please don't hate me! You should see what I'm gonna do to Shorties character *he he he*  
  
Caitlin22888- oh nono, don't worry, no death. Its not much of a fued anyways, probably just a little background plot. Oh, yes, thankyou for getting as far as you did with scl, I completely understand. I almost stopped reading it myself.  
  
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It wasn't as horrible as he'd anticipated. From Piper's tearful description, Spot had more or less expected a mangled and crazy Swivel to greet him, when in reality, he was more of a bruised and shell shocked Swivel then anything. Still, it was enough of a beating to stir the vengeful blood of his newsie underlings.  
  
"What do we do, Spot?" Spot and his associates, really just an assortment of Brooklyn newsies who'd slept late or been selling in the area when news of Swivel's soaking spread like wild fire, crowded around their fearless leader as he tried to think, pressing in from all sides. "Yeah, Spot, what are we gonna do about dis?"  
  
How the hell should he know? For God's sake, he didn't know! He wasn't a Doctor, or an Army Commando, he was just a kid! A 15 year old kid born in the gutters of Brooklyn, and they wanted him to have all the answers? Damned if he knew what to do.  
  
"I'll tell youse exactly what we's gonna do." Well, here went nothing. "Dey bust one of ours, I say we bust two a der's!"  
  
The cry was met with hardy choruses of "yeah!" and "You tell em, boss!" Spot paced back and forth, setteling into his role, the role he was made for. "Dat's right. We'll show em! We'll show em dey can't mess wid us, and dey can't mess wid Brooklyn!"  
  
"BROOKLYN!"  
  
*.*.*.*  
  
Doll Face was the kind of girl most newsies lay awake dreaming about at night; dreams that left them soaked with longing and bitter when they opened their eyes the next morning. Small and curvy, with beaming crystal eyes that looked into your soul and haunted your fantasies, she was sweet and proud and destined to be a good catch for any man.  
  
Spot liked her. Well, he liked making out with her. He did not love her.  
  
He never pretended to.  
  
"What are ya t'inkin about, Spot?"  
  
"Nothin." He grunted, anxious to get gack to the buisness of undressing. Why was it that people always felt the need to talk when there was no call for words?  
  
"Aw, come on. You could tell me."  
  
"No." he deadpanned, to her dismay. She knew exactly how he felt about her, and it hurt her; he could see it in the droop of her shoulders, usually stiff with self confidence, and in the way her face fell each time he'd causally brush her off. She loved him, but she knew.  
  
"I dunno why you treat me like dis, Spot. I dunno why I LET you treat me like dis."  
  
"Whatsa matta wid da way I treat youse?" He shrugged, a bit to busy unfastening his belt to devote himself to a suave response, so he settled for an honest one. "I neva hit you, I don't swear aroun' youse, an I aint makin' time wid any udder goils, not dis week. What's wrong wid dat?"  
  
"If you don't know, I can't tell youse." He rolled his eyes in annoyance at her retort. It was just so. . .so. . .female.  
  
"What evah. Come on, da boys'll be back soon." He glanced impatiently around the abandonned bunk room,expecting the stream of newsies to come piling in at any moment for their twelve o'clock lunch break.  
  
"So what? Dey won't come up if dey knows you don't want em to."  
  
"I know dat, lets jus' hurry up anyways." She leaned unmoving against a nearby bedpost, arms crossed furiously across her chest, an exasperated frown tugging at her lips.  
  
"I aint a service station, Spot. You can't just open da flap an' fill er up when you're runnin' on empty." He sighed, cursing the fates for sticking him with, of all people, the one girl in the bureau, maybe in New York, who'd ever turn him down. Truth was, she was more trouble then she was worth, but she always came around. She might have her dignity, but she had her weaknesses as well. For one, she loved Spot. It was her greatest downfall.  
  
"Fine, Doll Face. You don't wanna do it, we won't do it. I got papes ta get back to anyways." With a cavalier shrug, he writhed into his belt, grabbed his suspenders, and tucked his shirt under his arm, to his girl friend's dismay.  
  
"Wait, Spot." Doll Face bit her lip, grasping desparately at his arm. "I didn' mean ta. ."  
  
"It's alright. Like I said, I got papes ta get back to. An' I'm supposed ta meet Manca soon fah lunch, so it's bettah dis way." Uh huh. Spot failed to see how no action could ever be better then action, but begging never did wonders for your reputation. And that's all that Spot had, it was all that held Brooklyn together; Spot's reputation.  
  
"Spot. . ." she paused, reluctant to leave his company no matter how hard he pushed. For a second, just a breif second, Spot thought she might be reconsidering. But then that insightful look crossed her porcelain features, a look that he detested, and he knew it was not to be. "I really t'ink it might be good fah you. You know, ta tell me whats goin' on." After a moment of intense consideration, he shrugged and plopped down on a comparatively neat bunk. What the hell, he could always use another opinion.  
  
"Jus' trouble between da bureaus, that's awl. Wrench an' his boys is breathin' down me neck all da time."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"Ya know, same stuff it always is. Turfs wars, financial pro'lems, boys playin at bein' soldiars. An den dere's me own boys, who wanna see some action. Ya know, some revenge. But. . ."  
  
"But you don't want revenge?" Spot shrugged again, a bit wary at the potential of this conversation.  
  
"It's jus sometimes. . . I don't want it."  
  
"It?" He opened his mouth, on the brink of revealing the eternal mystery that was the mind of Spot Conlon, but stopped dead in his tracks as the stairs leading to the bunk room errupted with the creak of decrepid wood and the chatter of boys just out of work. And that was the end of their conversation.  
  
"Listen, you gotta be goin, Doll." He shrugged hastily into his trademark suspenders as the dissapointment shown like a banner across her face.  
  
"Well, ok. . .will ya meet me latah tanight?"  
  
"Sure, kid." He reached up and stroked her cheek gently, almost patronizingly. "If I got da time." Crestfallen, but determined to hold her rediculous tears at bay, she wrapped herself into her shawl and headed for the stairs of the Lodging House, throwing regrettful glances over one shoulder all the way.  
  
Spot reached into his pocket, taking a long breath to cool down, and withdrew one of his prescious cigarettes.  
  
He felt sorry for her, really he did. The poor kid didn't know what she'd gotten herself in to.  
  
But then again, neither did he.  
  
He would find out that night.  
  
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yeah, yeah, it's kinda slow, but hopefully it should pick up soon. I'm just flying by the seat of my pants here, so I hope you guys weren't toooo dissapointed. Thanks to you all for reading *stands regally on a bronzed statue of Greely and tosses squeeling newsies into the crowd* REVIEW REVIEW! 


	4. Rock of Ages

You think you know- by Crunch  
  
*Vioshine- AWW, it may sound weird for me to review a review, but I love this! And it's not just the ego inflation factor, either! Oh, yes, I want that very much too, maybe, just maybe. . .I love Manca! He's so fun to write! And yes, you were correct, he is not attractively challenged in ANY way! Thankyou so much for this review, it means a lot, since I love your writeing! Please do it again! (And feel free to point out any. . .er, not so great parts, since I value your opinion so much! Constructive critisism is everybody's friend!) Thanks again!  
  
*Derby- HOO YAH! Yes, hero, you heard right. Oh really? YAY! It's always comforting to hear from the master o' description that your story is descriptive! Yes, it's me update goil, bringing you new chapters at the SPEED OF LIGHT! DUN DUN DUN! Oh yes, so thanks for reviewing, now go write a new story! I Demand it of you!  
  
*Mondie- hehe OH that's a teaspot! SPOUT!!! What a lovely pun. Ahhh, do not mention college! That's such a panic inducer. .. oh no here I go. . .*hyperventilates into a paper bag, as Spot runs screaming into the night* Any whoo, yes I understand, take your time, you brilliant continuer of stories you! Hehe, Spot in his little playpen, with his widdle fisher price slingshot! Yes, oh the stupidity of boys, it boggles the mind. Well, yes, bureau, but you never know, maybe Spot has a bunch of his goilfriends hidden in his dresser! Maybe? Well, Spell check and haste are not good bedfellows. Oh, calculus, POOOR MONDIE! *sends one golden newie of your choice through the computer screen as condolence!* have fun!  
  
*Doll Face- *Sigh of relief* Oh, GOOD. I was so afraid you'd hate me for mutilating your character beyond recognition, but this is not the case, so glad you liked it! Yes, you will be maaking future appearances, fear not! And I will do my utmost to maintain your dignity! Hows that for encouraging?  
  
*Ali- WOAH! I got an Ali review! An Ali review! Oh, dear. . .*Charges paddles "one two three CLEAR!"* nonono, no bother at all, I appreciate a good ramble now and then! Thanks for the review SO MUCH, now, as I told Derby, go write a new story. Go on! THANKS MUCHLY!  
  
*Shortie- WHEE! Oh, Jacky boys a semi-mimbo in Hallelujah, I think. You're character in SCL, well, muahaha. Actually you're already in a chapter, you just don't know it. Oh, don't worry, he'll go to Hell, if I have any say in it! *devilish wink* hm, yes, well, maybe he is keeping women in his bureau, you never know! Ahem. Spell check is nobody's friend. Manca, yes, my little Italian stalion, oh sigh. hmm. . . I dunno if Manca's gonna end up with a girlfriend in THIS story, and while I was going to selfishly keep him for myself, well, sure you can have him if the opportunity arises! And if not this story, hey, don't worry, Manca will ride again!  
  
*Raeghann- Yes, Spot. How do I love thee, let me count the ways. Oh no, I cannot, so thanks! Keep reading! Here ya are!  
  
  
  
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Spot studied Manca from across the greasy, plate- packed tabletop in their regular booth, in their regular diner. Every thing about the boy across from him, oblivious to his leader's scrutiny as he gulped down forkfulls of pasta, seemed competely and blissfully normal. From his boyish, foreign good looks, to his cheerful disposition, to the predictably untroubled thoughts floating through his head at the moment, he was your average American boy, albeit more cunning and street-savvy then most. His opinions, his dreams, were those of the standard working boys of New York. It was one of the reasons Spot valued his input so much, and also, one of the reasons Spot envied him.  
  
He only wished he could be normal.  
  
"I t'ought Doll Face was just a fling." His friend mused around a sip of beer, jolting Spot back to there previous conversation.  
  
"She is."  
  
"Oh." Manca frowned slightly.  
  
"Oh what?"  
  
"Well, shouldn't she be. . .ya know, flung? It's been t'ree weeks." Spot shrugged, unwilling to consider the reasons behind this unusual occurance. It was true, Doll Face was the girl of the week he just couldn't bring himself to throw away. Even Spot didn't understand himself sometimes. Most of the time, actually.  
  
"So, whatta you gonna do about da Bronx?" Spot shrugged again, his mind on other things.  
  
"I dunno. I can't worry about dat right now."  
  
"Spot, somethin's gotta be done. Wrench's had da whole Borough out ta get youse evah since you done 'is sistah . . ."  
  
"Manca, will ya lower ya voice, fah Gawd's sake?" Spot glanced around nervously, though he couldn't say why. He supposed it was because Doll Face has no knowledge of the real reasons behind the fued, though why he cared if she found out, well, he couldn't say that either.  
  
"I mean, it's getting outta hand. . ."  
  
"I KNOW dat, Manca." The boy raised his hands in submission, not nearly fool enough to press the issue.  
  
"Alright, I'm sorry Spot. So you don't wanna talk about it. I could take a hint."  
  
*.*.*.*  
  
"Scandel rocks da state! Gov'nor seen wid young goil! Extra, Extra!"  
  
Spot whiped one sleeve, stiff with caked on mud and filth baked thoroughly in the midday sun, across his glistening forhead, waving the papes high above his sun-beaten head. Selling was hard on Sunday's, though he managed. He always managed. "Mayer and his nude young goilfriend caught red handed, pictahs page nine- " He cocked his head and paused, mid headline, as the strains of a familiar tune drifted from a building across the street, littered with girls in pleated skirts and men in fancy bowlers and hankercheifs.  
  
"Rock of ages let our song  
  
praise thy saving power"  
  
Intrigued, he turned on one thread-bare heal and, cap clutched in his hands, strode towards the open doorways of the nearby, familiar ivory cathedral, glistening in the midday sunlight.  
  
"Thou admist the raging foes,  
  
Wast our sheltr'ing tower"  
  
With a strange feeling that his presence was violating the sanctity of this holy place, Spot ducked inside reluctantly, feeling the deep strains of the organ reverberating through the floorboards. Sometimes, he thought about attending sevices. Hey, it couldn't hurt, he figured, and it might even help a bit. But then the urge would pass. What good would praying and singing those silly little songs do anyways? If he wasn't good enough for God, or whoever, just the way he was, it was too late to do anything about it now.  
  
"Furious they assailed us,  
  
But thine arm availed us,"  
  
Spot leaned against the archways, comtemplating whether today felt like a 'fake limp' day, or a 'hacking cough' day. Church goers were, after all, easy stoolies. They'd flow through the collossal wooden doorways at the end of another rambling sermon, like a river of holy water, hearts filled with repentance and heads brimming with good intentions, eager to buy a pity pape or two from a starving, sickly orphan.  
  
"And thy word  
  
broke their sword,  
  
When our own strength failed us,"  
  
"You, boy, what are you doing here, skulking around a church in broad daylight? Have you know respect?" A crotchety old congregant, clutching the wicker basket brimming with change in his warped old hands, staggered painfully across the vestibule towards the stunned Brooklynite with an admonishing glare. "Is nothing sacred to you street rats?"  
  
"I just. . ."  
  
"I know VERY well what you wanted, you scoundrel, and you'll get nothing from us! Now be gone!" He wagged a veiny finger in the indignant boy's face.  
  
"Well dat aint mighty Christian of youse!"  
  
"OFF with you!" With a last glare of rebellion, he shrunk from the temple, scuffing the polished floors as he went. Was there no charity in this town? All he wanted was a place to rest, and it's not like the folks he planned to swindle couldn't afford it.  
  
Glancing over his shoulder, still reflecting on the passion of the injustices done against him, Spot ran smack into an untidy cluster of panting, teary young newsies, faces distorted with grief and terror.  
  
"Hey, whats da mattah wid you guys?" Spot strained for breath, fighting to keep the cocky smile plastered to his face despite the fear permeating his churning stomach. "You look like da world is endin." He cast his piercing cobalt eyes from face to face. "BeBe? Twinkle? Pipah?" the last newsie mentioned stepped forwards, a grim look of panic written across his young face.  
  
"Spot. . .da raid. . ." he mumbled. "We lost."  
  
"Lost what?"  
  
"Diamond, Swivel, Queenie, we lost em. A couple udders is beat pretty bad. Petey's got his leg broked, an Tissue doesn't say anythin', just keeps groanin'. . ."  
  
"Huh? We lost . . ." He reached for some thread of understanding, his heart down around his ankles. Of course, this was just a joke, and any second, Piper's face would crack a grin, and he would cackle with pleasure.  
  
Any second now. . .  
  
"Dere's a couple of guys messed up REAL bad, and one. . .der aint nothin' da Doctor could do fah him, he's just a li'l un like us. . ."  
  
"What?" Any second now . . . "Pipah, WHAT are you talkin about?"  
  
"It was da raid, Spot, it all went sour. Wrench's boys musta known we was comin' some how!"  
  
Spot shook his head, desperate to hault the swirl of information invading his brain. Things were going too far, too fast, and he felt powerless to stop it. "Wait, raid? What raid?"  
  
"Didn't you know?" Piper's lips parted in surprise, and Spot knew that something had gone terribly, terribly wrong.  
  
"Know about what?" This wasn't happening.  
  
"He said you gave da order for a raid on da Bronx. He said you wanted somethin' done about Wrench an' his boys, tanight. Dat's how all our boys got hoit."  
  
"Who said? Who said I wanted a raid, Pipah?" The child's lip trembled with fear, and despite his growing impatience, the Brooklyn leader softened his voice persuasively. "I aint gonna hoit youse for tellin' me, Pipah. Now come on, who said I wanted a raid?" Coaxed by the change in Spot's tone, Piper heaved a sigh of resignation.  
  
"Manca, Spot. It was Manca."  
  
Oh. . . Shit.  
  
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OOH, the plot ever thickens! REVIEW!!!!!!!!! 


	5. When you say jump

You think you know - by Crunch  
  
Doll Face- Yes, poor Spot can't even find a break. Even when he's finding religeon. Ok, so he wasn't REALLY finding religeon, but it's a shame none the less. . . Thanks a bunch! I'm glad you like! And I think I already told you this, but NO, DON't ABANDON IT! And where's my update, huh? I want a one sweet day update! But no pressure. BTW, it's kindof silly to ask you, but do you wan't to see a spot-grows-to-love-Doll Face development? I know, ask a stupid question. . .  
  
Kaylee- Race? Who doesn't love him! Well, I'm not too sure, maybe I can have him make a cameo for you later, we'll see! Thanks for the review!  
  
Ali- Oh, no, swearing doesn't offend me. . .I do it far too often. And I agree, Manca is a bastard. *takes a swing at a passing Manca-muse* Oh, yes, and there's this spontanious little reference to you in the chapter, since you were half- in the story already, or sort of, but you don't get to kill Manca. Oh well, don't worry, he's not purely evil yet. Oh, yeah, you . . . love. . .SOB! Crunch receives your high five. Thanks for the encouragement! Oh yes, and I'm polling the audience. . .what do you think of a Spot-learns-to-love-Doll Face development? Just a cornball little thought, but I think they're kind of cute too!  
  
Derby- Hah, what do you think of update girl now? Yeah, that's what I thought. Thanks a bunch, I'm glad you like it! Oh, Manca? Hmm. I was real proud of that one. I think it was a combination of a bunch of names. . . Mondie's might even have been in it. . .I'll have to think about that one. I love newsie names! Anywhoo, thanks for the review!  
  
Misprint- Oh, lead to naught? That is one hell of an elloquent. eloquint.eloquent? Statement. Hee hee, now I've just pictured a doll face flying through the air, like from one of those catapults in ROBIN HOOD, MEN IN TIGHTS. And it is quite funny. Hee hee, vile wench? VILE WENCH? BUAHAHAHAHAHAH! Well, since you flatter me so, here's an update! Ps - what do you think of Apot growing to love DF? Just a thought. . .  
  
Fanfiction420- I knoew what you mean, I was just starting to like Manca a lot too! Which is kind of weird, because, I made him up. Hmm. Anyways, yes, it is on, and stay tuned to see where Manca's foolishness will lead. Dun Dun DUN!!!!!!!!!  
  
Vioshine- No, sadly you are not mistaken, and neither is Spot. But don't worry, Manca's not totally evil yet, oh, but the day is young! (No, really, he's not evil. Don't cry.) Yes, I love the Spot and Doll Face relationship, it's so fun to write, in a kind of twisted way. Jeeze, you've hit the nail right on the head with that! You're good at this! Anywhoo, I'm hoping their little rendez-vous will progress, but we'll just have to see where the mood takes me! Btw, what do you think of that idea- I mean Spot growing to love Doll Face? Your opinion is much needed and very welcome! Anyway, thanks for the review, and if you're even reading this after all this time, you have my eternal gratitude!  
  
Mondie- #1 oh, I understand, my updations are few and far between. Sometimes I even miss them  
  
#2 No, I don't think it is either, but as a frequent user of the world 'muchly' who am I to judge?  
  
#3 Oh, Manca. I hated to do it. Really I did. He's just too darn cute for this. Shame on me.  
  
#4 hee, piper, he's so small and insignifacantly cute. I love him muchly.  
  
#5 Yes, Spotty finds religeon. Chuckles all around  
  
#6 Don't remind me!  
  
#7 oh, poor vulnerable Spot. It's alright, I'll comfort him *tries to embrace a very un-vulnerable Spot-Muse, and ends up with a black eye*  
  
#8 This is a fun review! Luffle ya back! And, I have to ask, what the heck do all those little letters mean? It's been bugging me for evah!  
  
  
  
Sorry everyone about the late update! Yes, laziness, thy name is Crunch. Anyway, enjoy!  
  
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Spot could barely hear the sobs of his fellow newsies around the blood pounding in his ears and rising behind his eyes. 'Anyone else. . .' he pleaded against the rage he could feel simmering inside of him. 'Why couldn't it have been anyone else?' He'd trusted Manca, he'd confided in him, he'd loved him like a brother. Now he would kill the son of a bitch.  
  
He wasn't hard to find. After all, Manca was so predictable, just your average working boy of New York. So Spot knew exactly where he was headed as he stormed across the cobblestones, deaf to any protests or pleas. The boy couldn't go home, and he couldn't hide, because Spot knew him inside and out, knew every trick and every crevice of Manca's world. No, he couldn't hide from Spot Conlon. He could run, but he could never hide.  
  
Deaf to the indignant cries of bystanders as he barreled through them, Spot turned onto the street he knew well from many post- curfew adventures. With his footfalls thundering against the gritty cobblestones of a back alley, strewn with blacken clumps of snow and broken beer bottles, it was only minutes before Spot found himself at his destination. The rage inside of him boiling over with every step, he ducked through the entranceway under a sign that read 'Girls Brooklyn Lodging House'. Ignoring the mingled protests and cat calls of the newsgirls, he stormed up the rickety old staircase, pushed past a flurry of anxious females, and stepped into the bunkroom he knew like the back of his hand. And there, huddled on a bunk with his head in his hands, just as Spot had suspected, was Manca.  
  
At the sound of his labored breathing, the petite girl bent over Manca's shivering form looked up with dread in her eyes. "Spot. . . don't hoit 'im, please. . ."  
  
"Get out, Ali."  
  
"He didn't mean. . ."  
  
"Get OUT!" her face drawn with worry, Ali nodded and squeezed her boyfriend reassuringly on the shoulder before heading out, leaving the bunkroom deserted save for the two newsboys.  
  
"What did you do, Manca?" He turned to his leader, dazed and sick at heart.  
  
"Spot. . .please. . ."  
  
"What did you do?"  
  
"Please, I didn' know. . ."  
  
"Do you have ANY idea how much shit youse put me in?"  
  
"Spot, don't. . ."  
  
"DO YOU?" Spot dragged him off the bunk and flung the ashen boy against the wall with the ease of a child hurling a ragdoll, despite the four inches and 30 pounds Manca had on his leader. He didn't look remotely handsome now, with his bouncing raven hair hanging over his forhead, painted and clotted with blood, his twinkling sable eyes dull and frightened, and his normaly tanned skin the color of bleached ashes. More than anything, he looked sick.  
  
Spot tried to keep his furious glare; tried to clench Manca's collar in anger; tried to hate the shell of a boy quaking in front of him, but he suddenly found that he didn't have the energy, or the heart. He relaxed his fists and staggered backwards as Manca slid to the floor, and spoke in a voice void of anger, or forgivness, or emotion.  
  
"Why, Manca?"  
  
"Spot. . ." He nearly sobbed, and Spot could detect the sadness clutching his body. After all, he had always prided himself on knowing exactly what Manca was thinking, and exactly what Manca was planning. But this. . .  
  
"Tell me why you did dis ta me."  
  
He looked upwards, sorrow burning in his eyes. "I know I'm not suppose' ta wanna be youse. You been me friend forevah, you took me in an gave me a place in dis woild. But dat was a long time ago. T'ings have changed, Spot. You've changed. An so have I, but you was too busy ta notice."  
  
"I. . .I don't know what yoah tawkin' about."  
  
"I aint da half dead liddle boy who came crawlin' inta da lodgin house seven yeahs ago, shoeless an shirtless. An' you aint da same leader you was a few weeks ago. You use ta be fearless, but now, you dunno what you want anymore."  
  
Spot stiffened under his friend's accusations. "I didn't want dis."  
  
"But you SAID, Spot."  
  
"What?"  
  
"You said we'd show em, remembah? Show em dey couldn't mess wid Brooklyn."  
  
"I'm not ready fah war!"  
  
"Well ready or not, here it comes." He cocked his head, no longer trembling. "I made a call, Spot. Da one you wouldn't make."  
  
"An whats that suppose ta mean?"  
  
Manca picked himself up unexpectadly, a strange bitterness creeping into his rapidly-strengthening voice. "It means ya loosing your touch, Spot. You use ta be invincible, but now, yoah distracted. You're always worryin' about ya girl, or ya personal issues, when ya should be lookin' aftah da Burough. You weren't doin ya job, so I stepped up to da plate. I stepped in. Dat's right, me. Manca, Spot's stooly; Manca, spot's poisonal lap dog. I'm tired a jumpin' when you say jump."  
  
"I t'ought you was my friend, you liddle bastid!" Spot clenched his fists, anxious to stop the onslaught that was hitting just a bit too close to home.  
  
"Soah, I'm ya friend, but dat's all I'm evah gonna be, isn't it? I aint nevah gonna be good enough fa you, noone is! Not even Doll Face. . ." Spot's fist struck like a bolt of lightning, soundly knocking Manca upside the jaw with a sickening THWAK! The boy dropped like a stone into a crumpled pile at Spot's feet, as he stood trembling with rage.  
  
"I'd kill ya wid me bear hands, Manca, but you aint woith it. You aint woith anythin'." He spat. Manca rubbed at his jaw and looked up, strait into Spot's eyes, haulting him in his tracks. He was no longer the vengeful boy of the last few seconds, or the frightened boy of the last few moments. He looked. . . sorry. He looked tired, and sorry, and young.  
  
"Spot. . . Spot, I dunno why I. . . I didn't mean. . ."  
  
But Spot wasn't listening anymore. Instead, he felt sick. As sick as Manca looked. Where was he supposed to turn, who was he supposed to trust, when the one person he'd believed in had turned on him?  
  
Shaking his head sadly, drained of his anger, Spot turned and staggered from the room, trying to make sence of it all. As he stumbled down the staircase, with Manca's sobs reverberating behind him, it struck Spot that there was only one person left to turn to. That is, if she hadn't abandonned him too.  
  
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Oh wow, that was Uber angsty. And I wonder who the 'she' at the end is. . .yeah, right. Ok, so if you haven't given up on this story by now (sorry again!) REEEEEEVVVVVVIIIIIIEEEEEEWWWWWWWWW!!!! ;) 


	6. BACK

You think you know- by Crunch  
  
Misprint - Ah, really? You like the Ali line? Oh, I s'pose it was rather genius of me (yeah. Right. Get over yourself, crunch) No no, strange is good. Strangeness is our friend. Fight club? Hmm, is that the one where Brad Pitt plays a hot, mumbling, boxing gypsy, everyone has an English accent, and there's a mafia guy who feeds people to pigs? Cause if it is, then yes, I've seen it. And the R&J with Leonardo? No, I haven't, because I too have a strict abhorrence to all things Leo, but everyone tells me that Star-crossed lovers is a lot like it, so I should look into that. . . Really? You like my writing? OH. . . oh. . . *squeals and throws a golden Racetrack into Misprint's waiting hands* hee hee, Apot and DF? No, don't worry, you didn't forget an inside joke. . . Apot is my mis-spellsion (that's like updation) of Spot, and DF is my lazy way of writing Doll Face. Cause, obviously, 8 letters is harder to type then 2. Sense? SENSE? *throws dictionary as predicted, misses, hit's Spot-muse in the head, long story short ends up with a black eye. . .*  
  
Falco- Oh, Falco, you're review is wonderfully appreciated, hilarious and abstract, as usual. Really? You like? SPLENdid. Yes, yes, It's all going according to plan. . . *taps fingertips much in the style of Mr. Burns* Yeah, Spot's a tough one to write, so I try my best. . . Oh, I do feel bad for Doll Face. That poor kiddo, jeesh, I gotta throw her a bone one of these days. Yeah! I second that whole "she's not a whore" thing! Cliffhanger? Oh, yes, "The one person he could still trust". Well, the master of subtlety I aint. Thanks so much for the review, luffle you much!  
  
Doll Face- DOOLLLLFAAACE! Really? You like? Delightful! Hehe, Crunchy- kins, ey? That's a new one. Why, oh why, do I have such an easily manipulated screen name? Ah, I jest of course, I will where the name Crunchy-kins with pride! So you're for the Doll Face and Spot thing, huh? Well, good, then this is your chapter. And, as always, I apologize profusely for mangling and defiling your character with my petty words! Or, if you like the story, then, um, here's to you. And One Sweet Day? Put it back!!!. Toodles!  
  
Ali- Oh! Ali! *charges the paddles just in case Ali goes in to cardiac arrest* Can't have my best little Bilingual reviewer dieing on my account! Heh heh, no need to thank me, that look on your, er, review is enough. Yes, Manca is quite a catch, you lucky femme, you, so treat him well. *wink wink nudge nudge* Oh, don't worry, their friendship isn't over yet. Ah yes. The infamous "she". Boy, je ne suis pas un master of cliffhangers. Oh good, you like the romance? Well, read on my friend, read on. . . Je t'adore aussi, as usual! (oh, about leadership? I read- I sat in awe. It was BEAUTIOUS! Write another! Write ANOTHER!)  
  
Shortie- Ya know, this is going to sound really weird. But I wish I didn't luffle all my reviewers so much, you know? Cause, then I wouldn't have to prattle on and on in these epic- shoutouts, cause I wouldn't want to talk to you. But since I do. . . did that make any sence? Oh, well. Oh, Crunchy Bunchy, that's a new one! I just got this mental picture of those Brady Bunch squares, but they all have ME in them! Ah, so this is what fame looks like. Eh, don't worry about Manca, he's a tough cookie, and don't worry about the review, it was coherent in it's own way. Now go update the CHW story! Shoo!  
  
Raeghann- Yes, a while it has been. Thanks for sticking with it, I saLUTE you! Thanks for the ego-inflation! Heh heh, sooner . . . * Crunch's giggles fade as she realizes Raeghann means it* Here ya go!  
  
Sparker- Oh Lordy!! *squeals in reverence* It is she who wrote Angie! I sit in awe! You like? My hero likes my story? Thanks So Muchly! Hey, just for you, I'll try to plug Jack and Race in there, eh? They deserve a cameo, those Manhattan stallions! Thanks again, now go update!  
  
Vioshine- Gawd, you are so brilliant! Jeeze, you always know exactly what I want my characters to be like, even when I don't express it so well in words. Usually you know them better than I do, but that's a horse of a different color. . . Oh, would it make you feel better if I mended that nasty ol' breach? Well, feel better, that's where I'm headed. Oh gosh, I've just spilled the beans, haven't I? Ignore that man behind the curtain, you'll just have to wait and see! Thanks much for the advice! Yes, I do tend to get overdramatic in my writing sometimes, I'm just a lover, not a hater. Except, sometimes I get over angsty, so. . . any whoo, I'll try hard to keep the relationship in check. I doubt Spot will be falling head over heels any time soon, but we'll cross that bridge some other time. Well, sorry for the late updation, and I commiserate on the sister issue. Believe me. :  
  
Sapphyremoon- Glad you like! Dunno if you're reading this, since your on fanpress now, but I love your stories, and thusly, I am truly honored! Moi? To your favorites? Eek! I am unworthy! Thanks, I will! Alright, I'll let you update now, ignore my meaningless drivel and go write me a masterpiece!  
  
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The Boys Lodging House wasn't exactly the picture of High living, God knows. But there was no way around it; Doll Face lived in the slums, even by Brooklyn standards. Though no stranger to the streets, Spot tugged his collar a bit higher and clutched his cane a bit closer as he hustled down the unswept lanes with less swagger then usual. Boxed in on all sides by evil smelling hovels where the poor were tumbled together, surrounded by smatterings of Yiddish, Polish, German, not to mention the screams and cries that echoed from the festering alleyways, the Brooklyn leader quickened his pace.  
  
The fire escape was so icy cold, it burned the flesh of his callused palm as he hauled himself up the back stairs. He barely noticed, as his whole body was icy cold by then. One foot after the other, he climbed, his heart and his body crying out for Doll Face and all the things she could do to him the entire way.  
  
At the top of the cast iron staircase, he tapped a fist against the first chipped and puckered pane to the left, careful not to call on the wrong window. That would've summoned Doll Face's haggard parents, or at the very least one of her eight raucous brothers and sisters, and Spot had never been good with family.  
  
Luckily, it was his girlfriend that came to window of her shared bedroom, her blonde hair swept into ragged bun and a laundry basket on her hip.  
  
"Spot, what in da woild are you doin here? It's almos' Eleven thoity. . ." she trailed off as Spot stuck his head inside the room and pressed his lips to hers, hungry for comfort and escape. She didn't protest- not that she ever did, just jiggled the window open enough for him to slide through, their mouths still locked to each other. After a few stumbles and near accidents among the baskets of laundry heaped on her floor, they found their way to the bed, where Doll Face tore herself away for the first time.  
  
"Slow down, Spot. What are you doin heah? And why are you cryin'?"  
  
"I aint crying!" He sobbed and lurched forwards again, only to have his girlfriend dodge to the side, her blueberry eyes narrowed with concern.  
  
"Ok den, you aint cryin. So what's da mattah?"  
  
"Nothin's the mattah. Now quit talkin'. You're wreckin' da mood." He pressed forwards until their lips met, and this time, she didn't resist.  
  
~*~  
  
"Spot?"  
  
"Yeah?" He shifted beneath the ragged bed sheets, but didn't turn to face her- just stared at the peeling, whitewashed wall. Doll Face shivered and hugged the blankets closer around her slender form.  
  
"Remember the other day, when you said you didn't want it anymore?"  
  
"Yeah." He mumbled into the pillow.  
  
"What? What don't you want?"  
  
After a moment of awkward silence, Spot peeled himself from the bed, shrugged into his pants and clutched for his shirt, still fumbling with the straps of his suspenders. "I told you nevah mind."  
  
"No, no you didn't. You was gonna say somethin' until the udder boys came in. I could tell." He sighed and dropped to the edge of the bed like a winded carthorse, his shoulders stooped, and the tear tracks still glistening through the ever present street grime on his face. Spot's voice barely drifted above a mumble as he studied his fingertips intently.  
  
"It's just. . . This. I don't want any of it. I don't wanna be da leader. I don't wanna have ta have all da answers. I don't wanna be da guy dat hurts me bruddas cause dey looked at me wrong. . . I don't wanna hurt people.  
  
"What makes you t'ink you have to?"  
  
"What'd ya mean?"  
  
She shrugged. "I mean, you can do anyt'ing. Dat's what's so amazing about youse, Spot. You could be anyt'ing you wanted. An' someday, you'll be great." Though his lithe back stiffened under her praise, he didn't speak, so she hugged herself closer and plowed onward. "You know, I aint stupid, Spot. I know ya don't love me, ya nevah have."  
  
Spot's shoulders stiffened, but he didn't protest. Again, Doll Face spoke. "So all dis time, I been trying ta figure out why a goil as smart as me would stick around wid a guy who don't care fah her like she cares fah him. You know why dat is, Spot?"  
  
He turned back to fumbling with the silver clasps of his suspenders, though his fingers were shaking so badly, he didn't have a prayer.  
  
"It's cause I figure dere's somethin' about you woith waiting for. It's cause you're a good guy, Spot. You're a good man. And I believe in ya, and I do love ya. An' dat's why I been waitin'. Cause I happen ta think dat no mattah how long it takes, you're woith it."  
  
A smile creeping upon his lips, Spot pivoted on the bed linens to face his girlfriend, and reached out with one trembling hand for hers as he spoke without the signature gruffness. "Maybe. . . maybe you won' have ta wait dat long, ey?" With that, he smiled and leaned in towards Doll Face, resting his head on the pillow besides hers.  
  
"I messed up real bad, though. Real bad. Manca an' me. . . I dunno what ta do. . ."  
  
"Shh, don' worry, Spot." She edged her tiny hand towards his muscled one, entwining her fingers through his. "Whatever it is, we'll deal. We can deal tagethah."  
  
"Nah, dis is my mess. I made it, an' I can fix it."  
  
"How?"  
  
Suddenly Spot's eyes seemed to sparkle, as his impish features hardened and his back stiffened with resolve. This was the Spot Conlon she knew, the Spot Conlon she loved. Spot was back.  
  
"Well, we can't fight da Bronx. . . Manca proved dat. An' I aint much for fightin' dese days anyhow. Nah, we can't fight em. We gotta beat em."  
  
Yes, Spot Conlon was most certainly back.  
  
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SOOOOOOOOO hopefully it didn't give you too many migranes or cavities. A short update, I know, but we're getting ther, don't you worry. And, as ever, give me an R! Give me an E! Give me a VIEW! What does that spell? WELL? 


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